


Unassuming

by d_aia



Series: Partners [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bondlock, Holmes Brothers, M/M, Minor Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_aia/pseuds/d_aia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a night together,  Q disappears. Enter the Holmes brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unassuming

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Alexandra for being my lovely beta once again! Any mistakes you happen to find are my own and if could you point them out, I'd be very grateful. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Sherlock or James Bond characters and locations.

Unassuming

 

Bond was pretty content. He was still on a mission, somewhere close to home this time, in France, but he had a good bordering on very good lay the night before and he hoped that he was going to get his target that very day. Well, the reason it wasn't quite a very good lay happened to be the same reason things at MI6 were going to be tense for a while, the Quartermaster reaction to James’ behavior in the morning wasn't what you would call in the realm of satisfactory. But he had all the confidence that the young Q would find his wits eventually.

Maybe, he was a bit severe when he asked, or ordered as the Quartermaster put it, to leave the bed because he had a mission that needed completing and perhaps he needed to avoid Q branch for a while, still, everything was going to be the same eventually.

He was surprised, however, with how heartbroken and injured Q had looked, like he had been smacked in the head and needed a moment to recalibrate. He hadn't offered anyone a relationship, or even a repeat performance, and, though he knew that most people wanted to be the one who managed to change him, he hadn’t thought the Quartermaster would be one of them.

There was also the matter of the gleeful snicker that was bordering on evil which he had heard from the shower. What was even more maddening was that it was preceded by tears and they were still present in Q’s hazel eyes after he had stepped out of the bathroom.

James frowned. Suddenly he had a feeling that he was missing something.

He was still frowning as he finished the job, terminated the target and was on a plane home. First class, naturally, martini on hand, shaken not stirred, and he still couldn’t settle. His instincts were yelling at him that he was missing something, that something pretty bad was about to happen to him and he hadn’t lived this long by ignoring his instincts. As such, he tried to go over it all in his head.

Q had come by train, of course, he had practically jumped James, not that James had anything against it - in fact he had been eyeing Q for a while now - they had slept, morning came as it usually tends to with Q’s not-so-usual reaction and then the next he knew was the quiet but still pissed off way the door had closed behind Q. At the time, he was just relived that Q had surpassed his depressed stage and moved on merrily into his angry stage. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

He thought about it for a second. Was there anything of significance happening? Well, there was Christmas, but that was a week away. Was Q expecting him to be more accommodating because of the festive season? Maybe, but he couldn’t really tell with Q. Trying to understand him was like herding big cats: tiring, headache inducing and you could potentially get maimed for life. And MI6 was calling him a wild card. Which he was. Still…

The plane came to a stop just as it landed. It was soon surrounded by police cars with flashing lights and sirens. Damn it. James just knew that this was all Q’s fault. Possibly his too, but, generally, the little shit had a mean streak a mile wide, so he must have done something.

James was not surprised when he could recognize the style of the British SAS moving towards the back of the plane leaving pairs behind and managing to effectively secure the plane, by keeping everyone in their seats where they could anticipate their actions best. He, too, remained in his seat, but evaluating rather than cowering in fear. James wanted to have a handle on the situation before going ahead and blowing up the plane, the airport, killing hundreds in the process. Plus, he was one of his Majesty’s agents and it’ll be frowned upon to destroy an airport in London before finding out what was going on.

After securing the plane, two more agents came to his seat.

“Sir, please follow us.”

He studied them for a few moments. “And if I don’t?”

Their hands tightened on the guns. One of them, the happy owner of a very gruff voice said, “Should we take that as a refusal?”

“You should take that as a question. But here, I’m up,” he responded, standing. “Lead the way.”

They took him under armed escort to the nearest hangar, where the same blunt man as before waved him in, remaining to guard the door with his SAS colleagues. Inside the building there was a man with an umbrella and an incredible amount of power. It wasn’t something that showed in the way he was built, because it certainly wasn’t something to write home about, the best that could be said about him was that he was willowy. It was in the content, benevolent posture that he displayed. So calm and collected. It had the dubious gift of making him uneasy and that was without the presence of several snipers he could feel high on the hangar beams.

James was impressed, but he wasn’t scared.

He put his hands in his trouser pockets and leaned back. He continued to study the man while he himself felt weighted. Silence reigned and James let it, while he waited for the other man to begin the conversation.

“Very well, James Bond, I see you really are as unruffled as they say,” he gave a fatherly smile. It didn’t fit his face right. James didn’t say anything since there was clearly no question in there, but the man was waiting for an answer.

“Six or eight?” James asked, referring to the number of snipers.

The man’s smile went cold. Much better fit.

“Ten, actually.”

He felt a weight settle in his stomach, he had missed two. Where the hell were they? Was the guy telling the truth or was he bluffing? He looked like the type of man who had so many resources that there was no need to bluff. Where… but, of course, the nearby hangar with thermal vision.

“Missed the hangar,” he inclined his head toward the other building.

The man hadn’t moved a muscle, nonetheless, James got the impression that he had managed to surprise him.

“A true double-oh. I was talking to your, less politically inclined, M at some point and she agreed, the designation truly houses the best kind of agent. Now, with certain things that have transpired, I got to meet the man that cheated death time and time again. Pleasure to meet you, 007.”

James remained silent, still propped by the wall, posture casual, though he was still smarting at the mention of his M.

The man finally reached the point of his visit, “You hurt someone close to me.”

Oh. Who, though? He knew it couldn’t be a mark since the man seemed to be almost stereotypically British, but he had hurt plenty of people in the country. The man was waiting for an answer, yet again.

He debated between saying his true thoughts on the matter and pissing the man off on coming up with something else to say. Maybe something less insulting for whoever was he was close to and he had to admit, he had to give that person a prize. In the end, he wasn’t known for his preservation instincts. “I never promised things I couldn’t offer.”

James had the impression that he didn’t say something unexpected. The man had a lazy calm about him that was making James tense.

“Neither do I. Which is why I’m promising you this. Find him and make it right or you’ll regret it,” the man drawled.

James laughed, “You’ll kill me?”

“That is what you want, is it not? Why would I do that when my intention is for you to suffer?” the man explained patiently.

‘Torture, then?” asked James without trepidation. After all he wouldn’t be the first or the last.

The man chuckled, “In a way. It will be a special torture, one even you couldn’t resist and one that will certainly drive you insane. How would you feel about having a desk job, 007?”

James stopped breathing for a second. He was scared. But he couldn’t show it. “Good, less headache.”

The man wasn’t fooled, but James didn’t think he would be, hadn’t said it to make anyone believe him. It was enough fighting through the fear, not letting it win.

Naturally, the man had known that he would act this way because he continued, hammering his point home, “And when you reach the point where you barely even feel the headache, I will have you out in the field again, just to have a taste. Then it’ll be back at the desk. I will make sure you never completely forget how it feels to have a headache.”

Bloody hell.

“Who is it that I’m supposed to grovel to?” was all James wanted to know, having had enough with the conversation. Being threatened tended to have that effect. Until he found a way around this, however much he hated it, it was better to pretend to go along.

“You know him as the Quartermaster or simply Q. Good luck.”

Fucking hell. The SAS people were immediately in the hangar escorting him out, but James only took note of that in passing. Q? Who was he? He obviously had a brother, father, uncle, lover, person who cared about him from the shadows, neighbor even, damn it all to hell, close to him could mean a number of things, who was very powerful. What was worse for James, he seemed to be very interested in Q’s well being.

James was lead to the main building of the airport and left there. He brought a phone and MI6 secure line.

“Moneypenny,” he said after he identified himself, in order to get redirected.

“What did you do?” came her competent voice immediately.

He rolled his eyes, “That’s what I’d like to know.”

There was silence on the line for a few seconds then Moneypenny started talking in a clipped voice.

“This is not common knowledge and if it becomes that I promise you 007, that I’ll aim for your head,” she said in a quiet, intense voice, “and this time I won’t miss.”

What was it with the weird trend to make promise-threats to him? He remembered a time when promises were good things. Scratch that, there was never such a time.

“Got it,” he responded gruffly.

“Good. Q announced that he was going to take a few days off before Christmas,” she said and James felt dismayed. He muttered the next words with her, “he never takes days off. So M had Tanner and me dig around a bit. We found out that prior to making that call he went to you in the field. That call was coincidentally the last communication we had with him. He’s gone.”

James blinked, “We’re MI6 and he is our Quartermaster. Do you plan to explain to me how come we don’t have a way to know where he is at all times?”

The answer was tense but simple, “Yes, he is the Quartermaster. And a young one at that. Care to hazard a guess as to how that happened?”

James ended the call. He swore loudly and profusely. Now, to get a change of clothes and think where Q could possibly have gone.

*

James stopped when he reached his apartment. Nothing appeared to be wrong, but he had a feeling that there was something wrong. He entered with his gun drawn.

“Hello, James. We mean you no harm, I’m sorry we broke into your apartment,” came a quiet type of voice that was known to him from another lifetime. The man it belonged to, a doctor in the Royal Navy, John Watson, was staring at him, unfazed by the gun. He looked older, though not very different. They got along rather well in this other time. But this wasn’t it.

“We?”

“Yes. Sherlock Holmes and I,” John nodded as if to someone behind James. Since he wasn’t a double-oh agent for nothing, James didn’t turn. He knew there wasn’t anybody behind him.

John smiled. He obviously wasn’t expecting it to work and he offered a shrug as if explaining that he had to try.

“I know it’s rather pointless to withhold my name, because your blog made me something of a celebrity,” said a man, Holmes presumably, who came out of the kitchen, propping himself on the door frame, spitting the words ‘blog’ and ‘celebrity’ as if they disgusted him. “Yet I still find it annoying. I miss the anonymity.” Curly hair, whipcord thin and pronounced cheek bones. He almost reminded James of Q for a moment, there.

“Well, I find it annoying that you chose to fake your death without letting me know.”

James wasn’t fooled by the doctor’s mild tone. The man was furious. And that’s when James made the connection, another person that came back from the dead, the detective or the consulting detective. MI6 was insufferable for close to a week, he only found solace in the Q branch where everybody was working in a subdued manner. Apparently, Q was quite upset. Wait a minute, Q?

Holmes gave a small sigh, then said sharply and cheerfully, “Focus John, we have threatening to do.”

So he was right about the doctor’s name, something that evidently both fully expected him to remember. That meant that he wasn’t underestimated by this crowd. Well, then.

“Is this about Q?” he asked, breaking up their bantering and lowering his gun.

“How did you know that?” was John’s question, still mild.

The answer, however, came from Holmes, “Fatty got to him first.”

John just nodded, but James felt as if struck by lightening. How in world had he known? And of much less importance, Fatty?!

James took a step back to see them both with ease. He wouldn’t be the one stuck doing the underestimating.

A sardonic smirk was playing about on Holmes’ lips, “Find him. Convince him to come back. Make sure he’s…”

“Happy,” finished John.

James watched them for several seconds and because they didn’t seem to want to add anything, he said, “Or what?”

John smiled in that peaceful way he had. James was not going to fall for that, he’d seen the man kill.

“Or nothing,” John said serenely.

“Until you go on Wilton Way to buy a brownie or in BrixtonVillage to buy a carrot cake, which you’ll then eat at home. You have a passion for Indian food that you also prefer to eat in the privacy of your own apartment. It doesn’t matter, really. You will find yourself facing small nuisances. Maybe they get the order wrong,” Holmes shrugged coldly, “the address misspelled. Perhaps they are out of carrot cake one day. Little things. But when add them to the threat you already received, I’m fairly certain it will be more than enough to make you neurotic.”

“Insane,” clarified John.

James rolled his eyes, ignored how his heart was pounding, went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a scotch. “Do you have any idea where he might be?”

So what if they, impossibly, found out what he liked to eat and where? Did it really matter how they found out his weaknesses, what will drive him crazy? No. And if he found it disturbing, he could still drink. He really needed a drink, actually.

“None whatsoever,” said John after checking with Holmes and receiving a grunt in return.

“Then,” James gestured towards the entrance, “don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”

Holmes started for the exit, but stopped when John caught him by the arm. There were a couple of intense stares flying between them, before Holmes twirled around and smirked, “We’ll help you.”

James lifted an eyebrow. He turned and poured John his own scotch.

“Is he even in the city?” James asked while handing the glass over.

Holmes seemed surprised. “That wasn’t an idiotic question.”

That sounded familiar. “Are you related to Q?” James inquired dryly.

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

John burst out laughing at the abject horror he could probably read on James’ face. He tried to sniffle it after that but he was still chuckling when he said, “Yes, I had the same reaction.”

Holmes’ lips turned in a small smile and he continued, “I believe he is in London. In a hotel with very good internet access.”

James wasn’t convinced. “I get the first part, him sticking close to MI6 in case of an emergency. With the second part, I disagree. Q can be somewhere without his precious internet as proven by the fact that his own minions cannot find a trace of him online.”

Holmes inclined his head, giving a relaxed nod. “Having the option of going online if he so pleases is enough.”

“I think it makes him feel safe,” John added. “When you’re that good with computers, it’s only natural.”

James tried not to think about these strangers knowing so much about his Quartermaster. Never mind that one was his family, no one should know Q as well as James did. Well, that sounded a bit possessive. Still, it was his job, his handler and he could sound as possessive as he wanted to, besides, he took comfort in the fact that double-oh agents weren’t the healthiest, mentally speaking.

“There are a number of hotels that would fit,” James said a bit absent mindedly. “You know Q.” Holmes didn’t need to confirm so he just waited and James went on, “How often does Q cry?”

“Cry?” Holmes appeared bewildered. “Sometimes he fakes tears, but in absence of a truly – ” Holmes stopped abruptly. “Why?”

“He had tears in his eyes. I remember thinking it was not like him. But I don’t really know him,” James trailed off.

Holmes shook his head and got his phone out. “And you’d be right. About the not crying. That little wanker! It’s getting close to Christmas. Quick, think of hotels,” he ordered as he typed. “When did you find out about the problem?” Holmes demanded from someone on the other line. He waited for a couple of seconds then ended the call.

John watched him with an idle sort of curiosity while James went through his mental list of hotels in London and reached a conclusion. “The Milestone.”

“How certain are you?” challenged Holmes, ignoring his phone which started ringing two seconds after he ended the call.

James thought it over, “Reasonably.”

“Let’s go then. Get your car,” Holmes threw over his shoulder.

“How – ” started James, but was stopped by John patting his arm.

“Don’t. He deduced it somehow. Let’s go,” John said in that relaxing doctor voice.

*

James walked toward what was probably Q’s suite, along with John, having lost Holmes somewhere. He knocked.

Q answered the door with a smile. “Hello 007,” he nodded at him, then his attention shifted to John, “John.” He invited them in his suite.

James took a few seconds to study him in a relaxed environment. His clothes, for example, were very different, the grey cashmere pullover paired with light, comfortable slacks. This was the first time he had seen him without any shoes, just in grey fluffy socks, well this was the first time he had time to take him in. His hair, though, was still the same mess as always.

“Sherlock?”

“Any moment now,” John assured him. And sure enough, another knock was heard in a second.

“Mycroft?” Q asked after opening the door.

Holmes smirked, “Coming.”

Q rolled his eyes and remained by the door. He opened the door this time, without waiting for a knock. In walked the man with the umbrella.

“I find myself surrounded by infants,” he declared and came in further into the room, seating himself at the table. Q just gave him a look, to which he responded, “Tea is being brought presently. Such an accommodating staff.”

Q gave a nod and gestured for everybody to sit.

“Naturally, they were very embarrassed to find out that I don’t actually want a room here as someone,” the man’s eyes traveled to Holmes, “had told them.”

Holmes just chuckled gleefully, while the man - Mycroft - huffed, “Children.”

James found himself looking at Q, asking for answers. Q lifted a finger, his eyes asking for a few more moments. Another knock on the door proved Q right.

A concierge came in with their tea, announcing that it was complimentary and he apologized again for their error. Q assured him that the mistake was theirs while he led him to the door. After that, Q turned with a flourish.

“007, meet my brothers. The one with the umbrella is Mycroft and the one with the cheekbones is Sherlock. Holmes, the both of them. Actually, we all are. Unfortunately, you were caught in a game we play ever five years or so,” he said with the same competent tone of voice.

Only, that was in no way an explanation. “Game?” James asked doubtfully. He pushed the fact that Q was related with not only the famous detective but, was also the brother of the man that who pretty much embodied the British Government and was some sort of higher up for James. Lovely. 

“To avoid Christmas dinner,” Sherlock explained.

James guessed he appeared still confused, because Mycroft Holmes took over the explaining, “My brothers have tried to find excuses to miss Christmas dinner ever since they were old enough to think of reasons. It was impossible to convince them otherwise, so I made rules for such an occurrence. A game, if you will. To fool the rest of us for twelve hours, make sure that no one is injured in the mean time and no lasting psychological harm would come to us. Q has become a bit of an expert, hasn’t been at a dinner for more then fifteen years.”

“Yes, let’s analyze further the no lasting psychological harm to one’s brothers clause,” Q said with a slightly angered edge. “Like, for example make them think you’re dead.”

Sherlock Holmes tried to smooth over a wince. “Not the point. He,” Sherlock looked at Mycroft, “says he found out at about nine in the morning. We were here at about eleven. That makes more than twelve hours. Agreed?”

Mycroft nodded. “You are excused for another 5 years,” he said standing up. “You are invited to dinner, nonetheless, as always.”

In a few minutes, with some of the frostiest and, somehow still caring, greetings, they all left. He suddenly found himself with Q in a hotel room. And a bitter feeling of having been fooled. He felt a little bit better that he wasn’t the only one. Still…

“I was threatened with mediocrity until I become insane for a game?” asked James.

Q looked thoughtful while he moved around the room. “Essentially, yes.”

“You are deranged.”

Q smiled and grabbed a pen. He threw it at James. “Don’t be sour, 007. It doesn’t suit your complexion.”

James caught the pen. “My only option was running away from the country I love. What’s this?”

“Does Mycroft know about this option?” smiled Q mischievously.

“You know I don’t like ultimatums,” James shrugged.

Q smirked. That little shit. That competent, brilliant, handsome little bastard. James was aware that he had a thing for extremely intelligent people, who at some point or another involved him in their plans with no care for his well-being. Very healthy.

On the other hand there was that rule that mentioned no harm to somebody else. Q must have been sure that his brothers wouldn’t harm him. He also knew that it’ll be over in two days at most. Maybe this time he had made a better choice about the person he was attracted to, an arrogant smart arse, but somewhere in there, a better, caring person.

“A bribe,” Q said nodding at the pen. “To keep you silent about my family.”

It was James turn to smirk. “And if I don’t?”

The pen in James hand made a noise. A ping of some sort. He looked at Q, who said in the driest voice possible. “Now it’s armed. Want to try the range of those explosives, 007?”

Explosives? Great, Q had a sense of humor.

“No.”

“My family?”

“Not a word.”

“Good,” Q said while disarming the pen. “The arming mechanism is actually very simple. You just push a button on the watch.” He pushed his sleeve up to reveal a Hublot watch, all black.

He released the clasp and started walking towards James. Stalking would be the right word. Q gently cupped his hand, cradling his wrist in the palm of one his hands, fitting the watch with the other. “Do you know why I chose you for this little charade?”

 James felt threatened. Without being actually promised bodily or mentally harm. It freaked James out. Also, Q was nice. That never happened.

“I presume I’m going find out.”

“You know how you sleep with everyone in Q branch?” Q pushed the button on the watch now secured to James’ hand.

“Yes. Would you want that to stop?” he asked feeling the tension grow. There was something to be said about armed explosives and the closeness of a handsome man.

“No,” Q disarmed the pen. “Saw how to arm it?”

James nodded. Q hand grasped in his tie.

“I don’t tell my people who they can sleep with. But, when the fifth person this month comes in late for work, I take action. So, if one of my minions, as you rather fondly call them, end up in your bed? Please me sure you give them a warm send off according to their schedule. Much appreciated,” Q said returning to his tablet on the bed. “I’ll be in for work tomorrow afternoon.”

“Do you want some company?” James inquired idly.

That got Q’s attention, “Was that an offer for a repeat, 007?” 

Only Q had the gift of making his title sound like chopped liver.

“Yes, Quartermaster, I am.”

Q seemed to ponder that, “Very well. Bring me breakfast tomorrow, I’ll be prolonging my vacation for a day. Now if you please, I was reading quite an interesting book.”

James walked to the bed being watched by the amused stare of Q. He leaned and gave him a quick, gentle kiss. “I’ll be here.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
